


Powerless

by Sapphic_Futurist



Series: Sapph's Anti-Soulmate Kinktober Fills 2020 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Anti-Soulmate Kinktober 2020, Breathplay, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Dom/sub Undertones, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27121363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphic_Futurist/pseuds/Sapphic_Futurist
Summary: “I’ve got a proposition for you, Steve.” Tony's voice turns hard and laced with ice. “Do you want to come? Or do you want the serum?”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Sapph's Anti-Soulmate Kinktober Fills 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968322
Comments: 16
Kudos: 78
Collections: Anti Soulmate Kinktober 2020





	Powerless

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober Day 16  
> Prompt: Orgasm Denial   
> (And a little bit of breathplay because I can't fucking help myself).
> 
> Un-betaed so all mistakes are my own. A giant thanks to [resurrected hippo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectedhippo) for letting me scream at her about this when my goopy thoughts wouldn't pull together.

“This is what people are talking about when they use the word irony, right? I mean, come on. This is pretty ironic.” Tony circles him for the last time and Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. He folds his arms over his slight chest, straightens up his back and realizes a beat too late how much that small gesture gives away. 

The look Tony levels at him is the same as the day Ross had proposed the accords. The day everything fell to pieces with a small quirk of Tony’s eyebrows and the sardonic curve of his lips.

Yes. _This_ is a unique flavour of irony.

“Can you help me or not, Tony?” Steve asks, exasperation creeping into his tone.

Steve had hoped to avoid coming here to begin with, but with Shuri unable to help him, Dr. Cho ignoring his calls, and Bruce still in the wind, he hadn’t had any other option. So, while Tony’s eye tracks him like a vulture circling the sky, Steve reminds himself there’s purpose to the feeling of being naked under his layers of too-big clothing. The gooseflesh rising on his arms is a price to be paid. He suppresses a full body shiver.

“Of course, I can help,” Tony waves a glib hand in his direction, stepping behind his desk.

Tony’s maddening like this. Everything about his demeanor is wrong—the walls he’s built around himself as impenetrable as Steve’s shield.

“Will you?”

There’s a stack of papers overflowing one corner of Tony’s desk and Steve’s fingers twitch against his forearms, itching to reach out and straighten them. Despite his ramrod posture and the harsh look in his eyes, Tony gives himself away too. The once meticulous office is in disarray in a way unique to Tony, a blatant opposite to the chaos of his workshop.

A physical manifestation of the intricacies of Tony’s mind, Steve thinks absently

When Tony takes note of the papers and slaps them into order, Steve’s gaze snaps up. Tony sets the pile back down and there’s a warning behind his thick eyelashes. Steve doesn’t want to fight today if they can avoid it.

He’s exhausted and everything hurts, right down to the marrow of his bones.

“Tony—”

“Would it really be so terrible if you had to stay like this?” Tony asks and Steve blinks, taken aback. 

Steve shifts his stance and spreads his arms wide so Tony can take it all in. He knows what he looks like now. “Would _you_ want to stay like this?”

The clothes he’s wearing belonged to Sam once and practically drip off his body. Fabric pools at his waist even though he’s rolled the shirt up and tucked it firmly into ill-fitting jeans. He’s had to cuff the jeans multiple times and his feet poke out from underneath them, ridiculous protrusions in shoes two sizes too big.

If it’s not the clothing, there’s plenty more to laugh at.

Steve’s lost almost a foot in height and Tony towers over him when he’s in this body. All of the muscle mass has melted away and his arms jut out from his sleeves like twigs that could snap in the breeze. All the definition in his face is gone now, so the sharp edges of Steve’s cheekbones and jaw jut out against skin stretched too tight. He looks hollowed out and gaunt, a shade paler than ivory. 

It’s not a pretty sight, never was, and he feels as sick as he looks. But Steve will hold the shame at bay if it kills him. 

Tony leans on the desk and tips his head. “I think like you better this way. There’s definitely something appealing about the whole big man, small package thing.”

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes, inhaling sharply through his nose.

Tony’s playing with him and he doesn’t have the patience for this. There are a hundred other things he needs to do—things made harder by Tony and his goddamn pride.

He has _responsibilities_ and he’s taken a massive risk coming back to the United States in the first place. While he’s gone, Bucky and the rest of the team are unprotected in Wakanda. Natasha, Wanda and Sam are a formidable opponent to any enemy with the Wakandans as a welcomed ally, but worry still twists like barbed wire in his belly.

He needs to be there with them.

“I’m not going to talk about this,” Steve says. “If you’re not going to help me, then just say so and I’ll go.”

Tony shoots him a smirk. “You’re so uptight, Steve. Live a little. Are you not enjoying your vacation?”

“Vacation? Are you kidding me! You have no idea what I’ve been—”

“No, Cap, _you_ have no idea,” Tony snaps, eyes flashing but the simmering heat behind his words is abruptly lost in a hiss of pain.

Steve frowns, trying to assess what hurts, as if he has some sort of sixth sense to look at Tony and diagnose his injuries by instinct alone. That had always been Tony’s super power, knowing when something was wrong if Steve ducked out of medical or ignored wrapping wounds that he insisted would only heal on their own a few hours later.

_Used to heal a few hours later_.

“You’re hurt.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking hurt.” Tony's left hand is trembling violently against the desk. Guilt cloys in the back of Steve’s throat, rife with emotions he’s not prepared to deal with.

Later. They could sort this out later.

But Steve’s been setting aside the issue of their relationships for months and he’s not surprised that asking for Tony’s help today means he’s going to have to step into the limelight and face the music.

Whatever is causing Tony pain, _he’s_ done that. He and Bucky have done that. There were reasons, sure, but with his partner standing in front of him, eyes clouded with pain, it feels damn hard to justify. Maybe he just wants the opportunity to explain. Again. In person this time.

“You have a lot of nerve coming here, Steve. One phone call and you’d be behind bars. And you know it, too. You know it and you came here anyways because poor fucking Tony Stark would never call in his own partner. Well, you’re right again, _Cap_.” Tony spits the adage onto the ground. “Can I even call you that anymore?”

“Tony—”

“No,” he interrupts, “I’d never turn you in, not even after everything. So what does that say about me, huh?”

“Tony, just listen,” Steve starts, trying to meet him in the middle for once in their lives. “I’m not happy about how things played out and I hate that I hurt you, I do. This—it’s a mess and I know that. I want to sort it out, but right now I need to think about Bucky and the team—”

“What team? There’s no team anymore. You ruined that.”

Rage swells like the ocean, tearing at the shore.

“And what about you?” Steve says, tone rising as a flush of angry heat rushing into his cheeks. “What about you? You’re blameless in all of this, right?”

“Well, I’m not the one here asking for your help, am I?”

“They were your team too, Tony. Wanda and Nat, I can’t keep them safe if I’m like this. If…If this is about Bucky—”

Disdain convulses across Tony’s face and before Steve can blink, he’s storming around the desk, stiff when he comes barrelling into Steve’s space. There’s a brief moment where Steve thinks Tony might cock back and knock him to the ground. He’s always said he’d love to punch him and maybe this is his chance. But once he’s close enough that Steve has to tip his head back to keep eye contact, Tony just fists a hand in his shirt and hauls him closer.

Pulled up on his toes, Steve’s plastered up against Tony from knees to chest and it would be nothing to lean in and kiss him. He misses Tony with an unexpected ferocity, like a piece of his soul has chipped off and stayed behind, locked inside Tony’s chest where the arc reactor used to hum.

Arousal teases at the boiling rage in his belly and the embers of what Steve feels for Tony sucks in oxygen and surges back into a bonfire.

They’ve always been explosive and sometimes it’s hard to tell where anger ends and lust begins. Maybe it’s always been one and the same.

“Let me make myself incredibly clear,” Tony says quietly, breath wafting over Steve’s face. He smells like mint with the undernotes of rich, decadent coffee and everything Steve’s ever loved about their life together. With a deliberate motion, he lets his tongue dart out and lick his bottom lip, rejoicing at the way Tony’s eyes darken and stay transfixed on his mouth. “None of this, not one goddamn second, has ever been about Barnes.”

“What’s it about, then?” His voice is a husky and Steve can feel that he’s losing his footing.

_Focus on the team_.

Tony doesn’t give him an answer, steering off course yet again. “You don’t need the serum. Never did.”

“You keep saying something bigger is coming, Tony. What can I do like this? I need to be fixed.”

Tony huffs out a breath. “Not the way you think you do.”

“You’re the one who said everything special about me came from a bottle,” Steve whispers, shifting on his toes. The fist in his shirt twists tighter and Tony grinds his hips forward, the erection trapped in his slacks connecting flush with Steve’s belly.

Steve sucks in a breath and wraps thin, translucent fingers around Tony’s wrist. For a moment, he tries to pry him back, struggling even when it’s futile but the air around them crackles with anticipation and Steve doesn’t want Tony to let him go, not really.

He wants Tony to fuck the living daylights out of him, hold him down and take whatever he wants by way of penance then wrap his arms around him and never let Steve go.

They’re two magnets, spinning around each other, preparing to collide. Everything in him is drawn to Tony, even now, even like this. Steve’s been so fucking lonely with the weight of the world on his shoulders and there’s something inside him itching to let it go. If Tony wants it, he can have it. 

“Prove me wrong, Steve,” Tony whispers.

Steve launches forward and plasters their mouths together.

Just like all the times before, Tony responds beautifully, licking into his mouth like a starving man—like he’s dying for it—and Steve lets him take. It’s been Tony since day one, everyone knew it and even when they’ve all but torn each other to pieces, Steve craves him.

Tony is the virus living under his skin, resurgent in any moment of weakness.

As Tony sucks on his tongue Steve realizes he never thought he’d have this again and his body lights up, buzzing with excitement. He’ll take whatever scraps Tony will give him and feed Tony his own in return.

“Say you’re not just doing this for the serum.” Tony bites down hard on his lip and Steve gasps, both hands flying into Tony’s hair to keep him close. It’s what Tony doesn’t say that makes Steve ache.

_Say that you still love me_.

“I’m not. Christ, Tony, how can you even think I’d—” The rest of his sentence gets lost when Tony grinds up against him and it’s all he can do not to whine. He’d forgotten how sensitive this body was, how it laps up physical contact and comes alive with desire.

Or maybe that’s just because this is Tony.

It doesn’t escape Steve that Tony hasn’t offered an affirmative on whether or not he’ll help, but he pushes that aside.

If Tony wants him like this, pointy bones, deafened hearing, asthma and all, Steve can wait. He’ll wait because the rampant arousal throbbing between his legs feels more important than anything else and Tony may be tougher now, but he isn’t cruel.

He’ll help, Steve knows it. 

The floodgate opens and Tony’s hands are vicious on his skin, gripping and pulling at his clothing as he manhandles Steve over towards the desk. He palms Steve’s tiny ass with both hands before he reaches down and hoists him up onto the desk by his thighs. Steve gasps again, right into Tony’s mouth, clutching at his jaw and the ragged remnants of his goatee, lost in day’s worth of stubble.

When Tony’s hands slip under his shirt he wants to flinch away. There’s no thick, corded muscle, no warmth simmering under his skin. Steve hates this. He’s all sharp edges and translucent tissue paper bundled around bones that ache and the burn in his chest is a constant reminder that his lungs were never meant to sustain him.

He wills away the urge to ask Tony why he’d even want him like this.

“Tony, fuck,” Steve pants into his mouth, hands flying to Tony’s belt and ripping it free. Before he can get to the zipper, Tony captures both of his thin wrists in one hand—have Tony’s hands always been so big?—and twists them over his head.

Tony takes another step closer, nestles between Steve’s spread thighs and forces him back. Suspended in Tony’s arms, Steve’s head swims with the tight grip nudging the border of painful. They’ve sparred together for years and Steve’s always been aware of Tony’s underlying strength, muscle strong and steadfast under the layer of metal he wraps himself in. Feeling that strength used against him now is maddening, intoxicating.

“You’re not in charge here, Steve.” 

The thrill of what it might mean to let himself be weak explodes in a shower of sparkling colours behind his eyes and challenge rises in the back of Steve’s throat. “I can take whatever you’ve got, Stark.”

“I doubt that.” But even as he says it, Tony’s stripping off Steve’s pants and underwear together, revealing that he’s hard and already leaking over his shaft.

His shirt follows, landing in a heap on the ground, and the urge to cover himself rolls into Steve like a train. Shame, hot and poisonous, spreads through his veins but with his wrists trapped in Tony’s grasp, all he can do is close his eyes and tip his head back a fraction.

“You hate this, don’t you?” Tony says, looking his fill. “Being small. Weak. Needing to ask someone else for help for a change. But you’re still drooling for it.”

“I hate this body,” Steve corrects. He may hate this skin, but he’ll always love Tony.

Still fully dressed, the soft linen of Tony’s slacks brushing up the inside of Steve’s thighs when he readjusts himself through his pants. He leans in and presses his mouth to Steve’s throat, leaving smacking kisses in a trail towards Steve’s deaf ear, sounding tinny and far away.

Tony deliberately drags a hand from Steve’s belly to his chest before letting it curl around his throat and linger there until Steve’s breathing kicks up a notch and he bites back a moan.

“I’ve got a proposition for you, Steve.” His voice turns hard and laced with ice. “Do you want to come? Or do you want the serum?”

Steve rears back to glares up at Tony as the hand on his throat tightens up. Something dark and twisted starting to unravel in his chest.

Is it all just a game for Tony? Has Siberia destroyed so much that he’d be intentionally cruel?

Before Steve can answer, Tony drags a thumb across his left nipple then grabs it, and _twists_.

The burn is grounding and his body thrums with anticipation. It’s a special type of sin he won’t be absolved from, and Steve wants to come. He wants to come screaming with Tony so deep inside him he’s gagging on it.

But without the serum, what does he have left? 

_Everything special about you came from a bottle_.

If only Tony knew how right he was back then. Steve hardly knows who he is these days. The remnants of his team give him broken, pitying looks when they think he isn’t looking and he’s not Captain America now, hasn’t been for months. The shield doesn’t belong to him anymore, he couldn’t carry it even if it did.

When Bucky went back into cryostasis, Steve tore the star off his uniform. They call him fugitive, a criminal and Steve’s certainly not Tony’s partner anymore. Tony’s all but said as much. He hasn’t answered Steve’s letter and the phone never rings.

Steve’s doesn’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D.; the organization doesn’t even exist.

His best friend is _gone_ ; here physically, but Steve can’t be sure that the Bucky Barnes he knew will ever return completely. 

There’s nothing left and Steve knows it. The physical manifestation of being back in this broken, cursed body is just the last nail in the coffin.

Is it so ridiculous to imagine that the serum is the only thing he has left to hold on to?

“Tony that’s not—”

“Answer the question.”

Steve swallows. The realization that Steve might come out of this without Tony either way sets in, and he stares into the blank, dark circles of Tony’s eyes, searching for an answer.

He weighs the odds and takes the chance. Without Tony, at least this way he could still be _something_.

“The serum,” Steve says, definitive and firm.

Tony gives him a sharp nod with a look that gives nothing away as he starts digging around in one of his pockets. There’s the familiar tinkling sound and Steve almost refuses when Tony starts prying one of his fists open to shove the little silver bell into his palm. 

“Then you better not come,” Tony says simply, before he drops to his knees and swallows Steve’s cock to the base. He jerks forward as Tony sucks, holding himself back from thrusting into Tony’s mouth as his cock disappears into the sinful circle of his lips. 

Tony is merciless.

He hollows out his cheeks until Steve’s vision starts to blur, clearing his throat when he pulls off to take him in deeper. Without the serum, Steve’s cock is smaller and Tony seems to take pride in how he can take him fully into his mouth for the first time, swallowing around Steve’s cockhead until Steve has to close his eyes. He loses himself in the hot depth of Tony’s throat. It’s too good. 

Immediately, Steve is right on the edge. He claws desperately at the desk, legs tense around Tony’s shoulders, kicking a heal between Tony’s shoulder blades. “Stop, stop! Tony, stop, I’ll—”

“Better not,” Tony taunts and then the vacuum of his mouth constricts even further.

Steve moans, biting down until he can feel his teeth grind together. Spit drips down between his legs and pools on the flat surface. It should be uncomfortable, sitting in the cooling little puddle but now, like this, it only escalates the pleasure.

Steve pants into the air, throwing his head back and fixing his eyes on the ceiling.

He can’t come. He won’t.

“Tony, please. Please, don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

Tears prickle behind his eyelids and even as his entire body rises up towards Tony’s mouth, he begs, “Don’t make me come!”

* * *

Tony keeps him on the edge for almost an hour.

Using his hand and his mouth, he works Steve over until precome leaks steadily over Tony’s fist and Steve isn’t sure if he’s coming or not. He’s trapped in the unforgiving purgatory between desperation and relief, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Every time he gets close, Tony backs off, keeping him braced against the desk while his eyes droop closed and the body that’s long since gone limp under Tony’s hands slumps forward again and again.

Tony’s fist starts slowing to a stop and Steve braces himself for the inevitable onslaught of sensation again. Tony’s edged him before, but it’s never been like this. This is torture.

When nothing comes, he pries his eyes open a beat later. 

Tony won’t look at him as he tugs Steve to his feet without grace and shoves him in the direction of the sofa in the corner. The couch connects with his knees and he crumples into a heap, barely avoiding cracking his jaw off the seatback. 

He wants to ask Tony what he’s thinking. He wants to beg him to stop this.

From this vantage point, Tony has a new canvas to explore and his hands are on Steve before he can catch his breath. Work-rough palms run over every knob of his spine on their path down to the slight curve of Steve’s ass.

He doesn’t even wait for Tony to kick his feet apart, just willingly spreads his thighs and presses his forehead to the sofa.

“Talk to me, Steve, tell me what you’re feeling.” Tony bites down on his shoulder before he turns his head and presses his nose into the curve of Steve’s neck.

Steve huffs, bracing himself on a forearm as Tony’s hand works its way between his legs again and palms his balls. “What do you want to hear, exactly?”

“You seem to think you’re weak like this. Powerless. Why?” Tony purrs in his ear and Steve shudders. He feels like he’s floating away, reduced to the slick slide of Tony’s hand over his cock and the rush of blood in his ears.

Is that what he is? Powerless? Because in Tony’s arms he feels like he’s invincible and it’s never felt like this before. Tony sees something in him that Steve has never seen in himself and he hates that Tony’s decided to do this now, when he’s barely holding himself together.

When he’s just barely hanging on and people are depending on him.

Everything in his body warns him that he should run. He’s playing with fire. He’ll never get enough—

He draws his defenses in closer. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to feel powerless.”

The second the words leave his mouth he knows they’re a lie. Steve feels like garbage. Tony has experienced horrors that Steve could have never dreamed of and he closes his eyes, remembering what Tony’s told him about Afghanistan, the Mandarin attack, every moment where his control has slipped away and Tony’s been at the mercy of others.

Today they speak cruelty to each other like a love language.

“Don’t I?” Tony says, the hand playing with his balls drawing away to come back wet with slick. Tony prods between his legs, swiping fingers over his hole. Steve clenches down, body rebelling against the cold touch but Tony keeps him honest. He applies more pressure and Steve’s body yields. “I felt pretty powerless in a dead suit, bleeding into the snow.” 

That’s worse.

Steve claws back a whimper as Tony breaches him with a finger, pressing all the way in. “Is that what this is about? You want to get me back at me?”

“I want you to stop being so selfish,” Tony hisses. “I want you to admit that you’re flawed, just like all the rest of us. I want you to _apologize_ and tell me that you fucked up. I want you to stop hiding behind the serum and the shield and all the Captain America bullshit and just be Steve.”

A ripple of uncertainty races over his skin, leaving him chilled. Tony’s got everything figured out. He’s looking right past the smoke and mirrors and reaching out to wrap his fist around the very core of Steve’s being.

“Shut up, Tony.” 

Steve doesn’t know who the hell he is without the serum anymore.

He wants it to be enough, to just be some regular, average, run of the mill guy with a home and a partner and a _family_. He thought maybe he could have that with Tony, once. But day in and day out it’s been about everyone else.

Duty and propaganda live in his bones, as much a part of him as the chemicals and the Vita rays.

Take that away and what is he? He’s already thrown everything else into the fire. He’s past the fork in the road, can’t turn back now.

“You want to hear a secret, Cap?” Tony bears him down into the cushions, bending him at an angle that forces his ass into the air, spine arching to accommodate the intrusion as a second finger joins the first. Tony licks a hot stripe up Steve’s neck and bites down hard on his earlobe. “I don’t think you recognize yourself anymore and that terrifies you.”

“This is who I am,” Steve argues.

“It’s not.” Tony kisses the base of his spine. “It’s what you do, but it’s not who you are. Just admit it. You have no fucking idea and that’s what all this is about. You’re too scared to be anything except what everyone expects you to be and you’re tearing everything apart trying to prove that you’re right.”

“Fuck you,” Steve snarls, jolting into the couch to pull off Tony’s fingers. He’s not going to play this game with Tony. It’s not worth it, it’s not—Tony’s body follows after him and he can’t squirm away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just tell me I’m right, Steve. Tell me I’m right and I’ll help you. Give it up. You miscalculated. You’re flawed. Breakable. _Imperfect_. Just like all the rest of us.”

Steve swallows hard, gritting his teeth. Tony’s goading him, he’s petty and vindictive and he wants to break Steve down into pieces as some sort of deranged retribution for Siberia. Steve knows it.

So why the fuck is it working?

He wriggles in Tony’s arms again but there’s nowhere to go. Between his legs, his cock throbs and he’s been hard enough to cut glass since this all started. There’s no escape from the heat of Tony’s hands, his body pinning him in place.

Tony’s fingers pause inside him as he reaches down to jerk him off, hard and fast. It’s no use begging this time, Tony’s already compiled all the data and he knows exactly what this body can handle. With the orgasm hovering just beyond his grasp, Steve slumps forward as Tony brings him right to the edge and lets go of his cock, keeping him trapped against the couch.

“Let me go. Tony. Let me go.”

“Drop the bell, and this all stops,” Tony challenges, curling his fingers deeper. A third finger pushes into him and Steve gasps, toes curling with pleasure, with humiliation.

Dropping the bell means that Tony wins. He wins and he’s right but Steve stopped being this man a long time ago. He was always meant to be better than this.

“Are you sure you can even take me like this?” The feel of Tony’s slicked up cock rubbing between his cheeks mocks him with a blunt jab against his hole. Steve growls a curse into his forearm and pushes back, but he’s held fast.

“You’re being cruel, Tony.”

“And you’re being fucking selfish,” Tony growls, shoving forward. Even with the prep, Tony feels enormous in his ass, bigger than he’s ever felt before, and Steve hides a whine in his forearm. He’s full in a way he hasn’t experienced in decades. “So—fucking—selfish—” Tony drives into him to the hilt and before Steve can bite out a sharp response Tony slaps a palm over his mouth and steals his voice.

Steve feels powerless alright. Completely at Tony’s mercy and suspended in his arms. He’s burning up, split open on Tony’s cock as he works himself in one painstaking inch at a time. Tony tosses him around like a rag doll, using his meager weight against him to push Steve into the couch and slam him back into the cradle of his hips.

It should enrage him, but maybe it’s not so horrible to have the power taken out of his hands. He can bear this if Tony wants him to, if he needs him to.

Steve closes his eyes and let’s go by a fraction, just enough to lean into Tony’s hold.

Tony moans in his ear and slows his movements, letting Steve feel every slick drag of his cock as it works back into his body. Everything is reduced to where they’re joined and the aching spots Tony’s fingers are leaving on his hips.

Steve lets himself _feel_ and his chest constricts, lungs dragging air through the spaces between Tony’s fingers. It’s not enough. He’ll choke on it.

“Tony—” The words are garbled into Tony’s palm, thick with emotion.

He doesn’t want to lose him. Not like this. Not when they’re angry and hurting and taking it out on each other.

Steve wants to stop. He wants to fucking stop. He wants all of this to stop.

“Shh,” Tony presses his forehead into the space between Steve’s shoulders as he struggles and Tony’s voice goes soft. “It’s okay. You’re beautiful like this Steve, so small and perfect. You don’t have to be Captain America here. Just let go, honey.”

Steve can’t think, he can’t breathe. The gentleness wraps him in a warm blanket but it feels like a lie. Steve’s nothing like this.

He’s hurt Tony and Tony’s hurt him and Steve is still so fucking angry but there’s nothing to do with the rage.

He needs to be able to help. He needs to do _something_.

Everything swells around him and Steve’s vision blurs with tears again. The hand on his mouth slips down and Steve gasps in air before it’s back with Tony shoving two fingers into Steve’s mouth.

Steve sucks them down, lapping at Tony’s fingerprints.

“You make these impossible choices because you think you have to, Steve. Aren’t you tired of fighting?”

He is tired. He’s so fucking exhausted. He’s lost in the woods and there’s no way to make it out of this unscathed.

When Tony pulls his fingers back and wraps them around his throat, keeping up a steady pace as he drives into him, Steve moans and lets his head drop. If Tony pressed down just a shade harder, he’d even take away his ability to breathe and Steve could be completely at his mercy.

He wants to beg for it. He doesn’t even need to come, not if Tony will take the weight off of his shoulders, even for a second.

Tony thrusts up, driving into him. “Answer me, damn it.”

“Y-Yes,” Steve croaks, letting go and dropping the hand holding him up from the couch to twine his fingers with the hand braced across his chest. Tony grunts from the pressure, taking all of Steve’s weight into his arms and landing hard with a knee on the sofa.

He yanks Steve upright, driving up into him as Steve shifts in his lap, trying to accommodate the new angle. The hand on his throat steals the air from his lungs and his chest burns. Tony wraps around him at every angle and his vision blurs at the edges.

He doesn’t have to breathe, doesn’t have to think. It’s perfect.

“Listen to me,” Tony hisses in his ear, mouthing at the soft skin below. “This is the man I fell in love with. You’re beautiful. Delicate, breakable, and still the strongest fucking person I’ve ever known.” Tony picks up the pace, grinding his hips into Steve’s ass and Steve can feel Tony’s cock in his throat, spearing through him.

Steve is flayed open, spread over a spit and burning alive in Tony’s arms.

“L-love you,” he forces out.

“ _Fuck_ Captain America, Steve. You don’t need the serum. You already have everything you need. Why didn’t you just let me help you?” 

Steve feels himself crack, glass spider webbing outward and little shares tumble free onto the ground. But Tony isn’t finished yet, he’ll want him to walk across the glass until his feet are bleeding and push him down onto his knees to watch him crawl.

Tony means to unmake him and Steve will let him.

Steve will let Tony have anything he wants.

“Tony, please—"

“I’d have given you damn well near anything, Steve. But I guess you already know that, don’t you?”

A flash of Tony, lying cold on the concrete assaults him and Steve sobs, gripping the hand around his throat and squeezing down. Tony groans again, deeper, giving in and tightening his fingers around Steve’s windpipe as his thrusts grow more erratic, biting down on Steve’s shoulder and panting against his shoulder.

Pinpricks of colour appear and the bell in Steve’s hand rings hollow.

How does he make this right?

“And then you came here and you still picked Captain America over everything else. You’re a selfish man, Steve. Everyone always thinks it’s me.” Tony draws soft fingers over the head of his cock again and Steve flinches away. “I love you anyway, Steve. How fucked is that?”

Tears are dripping onto the sofa. Every muscle in Steve’s body relaxes with the exception of his tight grasp on the bell. The hand on his throat released and circles his chest, pulling him back. Steve gulps in breath after breath.

They’re plastered together chest to back, sweat dripping between them and Steve gasps, moans, damn well near cries.

He’s fucking picked wrong again.

Tony loves him anyway.

“Come on,” Tony gasps out, breathless. Behind him, Tony is rapidly losing control, spiralling towards his own release with brutal thrusts. Steve whimpers and shakes his head as Tony’s hand starts to stroke him again.

He can’t take it. He can’t. He’ll come and all this will be for nothing.

“S-Stop,” Steve begs, “Stop, please, please, stop—” But Tony is relentless.

Steve struggles in his arms, fights, and Tony doesn’t let him go. He forces Steve back onto all fours and curls over him, pressing his forehead into the top of Steve’s spine, right at the base of his neck and lets out something of a sob of his own.

“It doesn’t count. It doesn’t count, okay?” Tony sounds like he’s falling to pieces, pulling in heavy breaths as he starts to yank on Steve’s oversensitive prick. “You’ve been so good and you’re so perfect like this. Just let go, darling, I’ve got you. It doesn’t matter. Just come.”

As tears drip onto his back, Steve shatters. Every atom in his body flies apart under Tony’s skillful touch and with Tony driving up into him, hand flying over his desperate cock, Steve never stood a chance.

Steve comes with a shout, threading his fingers through Tony’s to hold him as close as he can. For that brief moment, they’re one again. Steve’s whole and nothing hurts.

Tony grunts, slamming into him. He moans out some semblance of Steve’s name and comes, whispering that he loves Steve as he pulses deep inside him. It feels like a lie but Tony’s still saying it, over and over again; he loves Steve anyway.

Steve sobs again and floats away, untethered.

* * *

“It was a simple fix, you know.” Tony’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling and his breathing is slow and even.

Steve doesn’t remember how they ended up here, his head cradled in Tony’s lap with Tony’s fingers threaded through his sweaty hair. His stomach rumbles and it’s impossible to say how much time has passed since Tony finally let him come.

Tony’s arms are at his sides and one pinky is just within reach. Steve could nudge his hand over and touch it. One moment of softness in a sea of brutality.

He doesn’t. He hums an inquisitive noise.

“The issue with the serum,” Tony elaborates. “You still have it, that hasn’t actually changed. Whatever you were dosed with was just a series of transmission blockers that interfere with chem uptake. The base components of the serum don’t have access to the necessary receptors so the serum can’t reproduce itself.”

Steve glances up, uncertain. A curl of uneasy anticipation winds itself through his chest and squeezes.

He’s exhausted, raw and painfully open in more ways than one.

“The serum’s just asleep for the winter.” Tony curls over Steve and for the first time since this started, he looks directly into Steve’s eyes. “I figured it out in less than an hour.”

The honesty is meant to hurt and it hits the mark on Steve’s abused heart.

Tony traces his fingers over Steve’s throat, stroking the bruises forming there. His lips press together until a line of white appears at the purse and Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t dare touch him.

Something is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

He resists the urge to close his eyes, prepares himself to soldier through whatever else Tony has to offer. Steve waits for the bite of Tony’s malice, to find out that Tony’s been lying all along. Maybe he’d never meant to help him after all. 

It hardly seems to matter now.

Quiet moments pass and Steve focuses on the gentleness of Tony’s touch, sinking into it and drifting in the intimacy. After everything, he thinks he can still feel the love Tony has for him jumping from the tips of his fingers and working into Steve’s skin like a balm.

Was it too much to hope that this was the frigid chill of Siberia starting to thaw?

“Steve,” Tony whispers and he realizes his attention has strayed.

He drags his heavy eyes up only to lose himself in Tony’s gaze. Steve drowns in him and as Tony leans forward and presses his lips to Steve’s forehead, warm breath wafts over his face and wraps around him like a blanket. He feels like less than dirt but Tony loves him anyway.

In the tenderness, Steve wants to believe that he’s home.

“What are we doing?” Steve whispers.

Tony sighs. He pulls his hands back from Steve’s face. Everything feels cold and sticky as Tony shifts his weight off the couch and Steve watches as he pulls on his clothes. Across the room, Tony retrieves a small, sealed bag from the desk and tosses it onto the sofa at Steve’s side. 

Steve blinks at it then looks back up at Tony, uncertain. His question hangs unanswered between them.

“Take two every six hours for the next three days,” Tony says, voice dull and flat. “And Steve?”

“Don’t go.” Steve watches, numb, when Tony crosses the room only to linger in the doorway. “Let’s—Tony, can we talk about this?”

Tony gives him a heartbreaking smile and in that split-second Steve knows that whatever Tony says next is the end. One final blow; the proverbial shield grasped in Tony’s fingers this time.

Was it just about getting even?

Tony glances at the floor. “I would have given it to you either way.”

Steve shuts his eyes.

It was never about getting even at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on [Tumblr](https://sapphic-futurist.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Check out the rest of our Kinktober fills here [Anti-Soulmate Kinktober Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Anti_Soulmate_Kinktober_2020/profile).
> 
> Your comments and kudos are so very loved.


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